


Fumée et Bisous

by BadTasteGang



Category: Wolf 359 (Radio)
Genre: Blow Jobs, College AU, Hand Jobs, M/M, Public Sex, god i'm so ashamed, i said i'd never post this but i want to keep all my works in the same place for convenience's sake
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-17
Updated: 2019-01-17
Packaged: 2019-10-11 15:45:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,251
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17449778
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BadTasteGang/pseuds/BadTasteGang
Summary: Riemann wants 5 minutes of peace. Cutter wants a favour.





	Fumée et Bisous

**Author's Note:**

> This is for a shoddily put together college au where no one dies and everyone is fucking. There may be a second chapter if I get some free time between my own college work. I hope you enjoy!

5 minutes of peace. That's all he asks for - 5 minutes everyday to sit and smoke behind the sports hall. To just switch off and stare at the sky and not think about anything except the feeling of smoke filling his lungs. Inhale, exhale, watch the clouds drifting by as the lazy stream of smoke curls from the lit end of his cigarette. Yet here he is, fiddling with his lighter, scowling with his teeth clamped around the filter. Can he get _one moment_ of fucking peace? Apparently his brain says no. It's rushing at a million miles per hour, thinking about exams and stress and how he's not _good enough_ , why can't he be good enough at anything, and home, homesick in one breath and grateful to be away from that hell in the next, and friends and more than friends, about bruised knuckles and bloody lips and teeth and bodies in the dark, and and and- _click_. He flicks the lighter and holds the flame to the fag dangling from his mouth. Stop thinking. Inhale, exhale. 5 minutes of peace.

There's a nagging feeling in his chest, though, even when he gets his thoughts to quiet down for a few moments. He can't quite put a finger on what it is. Something aching, constant, making it harder than ever to focus on classes and hobbies and everything in between. How long has this been going on for now, this dull throb that he can't explain? He doesn't think it's depression - having grown up with a depressed mother he knows very well what that's like and this certainly doesn't compare. Inhale, exhale, close his eyes, shut the world out for a second and try to stop thinking. It's probably not indigestion. I mean… Probably. That's a whole different pain in the chest. He rubs his face with one hand and looks back up at the baby blue sky.

It's nearly summer. Exam season, time to- _time to stop thinking about that. Five minutes. Stop it._ He sighs, breathes in a little too hard, chokes on tar and smoke. His eyes water as he hacks and thumps his chest with a closed fist. Jesus Christ, this isn't the relaxed alone time he was planning. He swallows, coughs again, flicks the cigarette ash to the ground. Start again at square one - think of nothing. Focus on now. What does he hear? What is he touching? What can he see? His mum taught him that a long time ago. Grounding, she called it. She learned it in therapy, said it helped to keep her in the present and- okay, okay. One more try. _Don't think about your mother. Don't think about home. Don't think about anything._ Inhale. Exhale.

It's nearly summer. The air is getting warmer, the sky bluer, everything's colourful and in full bloom. Everyone seems happy, the world seems more peaceful. And, he supposes, he feels that way too. When his brain isn't rushing at a mile a minute it's quite tranquil sitting there in his own personal bubble. It's not completely quiet there, of course - he can hear student athletes on the field, the chatter of others as they walk around on their break, the faint sound of music from someone's speaker. A busy school, it's usually not quiet til the middle of the night, and even then it's not a guarantee. He doesn't mind too much. After a while the constant hubbub fades into the background and it just becomes another normal part of the atmosphere. Inhale, exhale. This is better. Nothing on his mind but the sun on his face and the bonfire in his lungs.

A familiar sound melts out of the gentle din. Footsteps approaching. _Someone's coming_. That moment of relaxation gone before it started. He curses quietly and looks around for somewhere to put out his cigarette before he gets caught. This is ridiculous, he's an adult and he should be able to do whatever he damn well pleases in his spare time, but this uni is _very_ strict about smoking on grounds. Fuck, what should he do? Eat it?! No. Maybe. Put that one on the back burner. He still hasn't decided when a figure he recognises all too well slinks around the edge of the building and hits him with a blinding smile.

“Victor!” Oh. Well, it could be worse. He knows this guy won't snitch on him. Inhale. “I was looking for you.” Long exhale.

“...You found me.”

“Mmm…” Marcus walks over slowly, a lion stalking its prey. “You naughty boy, you know you're not allowed to smoke here.” His smile doesn't reach his eyes. Does it ever?

“Neither are you.” He watches as the shorter man plucks the fag from his hand and takes a drag. Why does he put up with his bullshit? _God knows._ Marcus closes his eyes and lets out a soft pleased noise as the smoke curls from his twisted mouth. Riemann feels a heat spreading in his stomach. Ah. That's why.

“You wouldn't tell anyone, now, would you?”

 _(Don't tell anyone_ he purrs, balancing on a desk chair to turn off their room smoke detector so he can smoke at night. _This is our secret, okay?_ he whispers as they lie together in his bed, naked with tangled limbs. _You can't tell anyone about this_ he moans against his hand, those cold eyes of his half open so he can watch what Victor’s doing to him. Of course. Keep a secret, don't tell anyone about anything. Bottle it up. What's new?)

“Course not, sir.” Marcus' jaw tenses.

“Don't call me that in public.”

“Sorry, s- Cutter.” He avoids looking straight at him. Hopes he isn't getting into a bad mood, certainly doesn't want to be on the receiving end of that. Marcus takes another drag. _Guess you're not getting that cigarette back._ Out of the corner of his eye Victor watches him tremble. Is he putting it on or does the nicotine rush just hit him hard? Either way, it's not an unpleasant sight. The last time he saw him shudder like that Marcus had been sprawled on his bed, back arching, ass tight around his- _don't think about that right now, Jesus._  His trousers are already getting uncomfortable and if he doesn't calm down soon he's going to have very blue balls in his next class.

Marcus glances at him.

“Something on your mind, Victor?” Riemann swallows, licks his lips, tries to think of something to say. Those eyes cut right through him and a small part of him hates it, hates feeling vulnerable under the gaze of this stuck up little man.

“No,” he mutters. Cutter almost coos.

“Are you sure? You look… Deep in thought.”

“I'm fine, si- Cutter.” Marcus leans on the wall next to him, staring at him for a long moment.

“You enjoy calling me sir, don't you?” He isn't sure how to respond and sticks to silently watching him blow small smoke rings. _Show off_. “Answer me.”

“...Yes. Sir.” Marcus smiles again, eyes flitting down to the taller man's groin. It's clear Victor is getting riled up.

“And didn't I tell you not to call me that in public?”

“Yes, sir,” he repeats, then winces and grits his teeth as he gets a hard pinch on the arm.

“So stop doing it~”

“Sorry.”

“Good boy.” Cutter's hand stays on his arm, gently massaging his bicep. _Christ._

“Uh… Sir- ow, ow, _fuck!_ Cutter, I mean.”

“Mmm?”

“Do you… Want something?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well… You were looking for me?”

“Mm. So I was. Thanks for the reminder, sweetie~” Riemann tries not to frown. If he was trying to sound cute, it just came off as creepy. If he was trying to sound like a sleazeball… Well, it worked. “I needed to ask you a favour.” The hand that had been caressing his arm creeps down, stroking his stomach through his shirt and making his breath catch. “So, you probably know I have a little recital next Tuesday.” He stops to take another drag from the almost burned out fag. “And there'll be drinks after.” There's a stretch of silence before Riemann realises he's expected to say something.

“Right.” Smooth.

“Now, I can't exactly drive myself there and back if I'll be drinking, can I?”

“...Right.” He can see where this is going. He can also feel where Cutter's hand is going and leans into his touch as he fiddles with his belt.

“So?”

“Mnh?”

“ _So_ ,” Cutter says with a glimmer of irritation creeping into his voice, “will you drive me or not?”

 _Make it worth my while,_ Riemann wants to say, but he doesn't. _Why would I come to a piano recital when I can't even drink when I'm there?_ he wants to ask, but he doesn't. He supposes he'll take him, even if he has to babysit him when he's drunk. He resents it sometimes, but he's loyal to this prick. He owes him a lot, and he wants to stay on his good side - plus if he plays it right it looks like he's going to get something good in exchange. That'll certainly lift his mood and clear his head before he has to get back to class. But God, this performance of his is probably going to be full of music snobs and he knows he'll be bored out of his mind. “Victor,” Cutter snaps and pulls him from his thoughts.

“Mm?”

“Will you take me to my recital?!” _How many times do I have to ask you a simple question?_

“Sure. Yes.”

“Wonderful~ Now we’ve got _that_ sorted, how about I do something about this?” He punctuates his sentence with a firm squeeze that makes Riemann jump and in turn makes Cutter giggle. It’s a disquieting sound and Riemann cuts it off the best way he knows how - a kiss that nearly knocks Cutter’s breath out. He feels him hum softly against his lips as he undoes his belt and pulls down the trousers’ zipper.

He'd be happy to stay like that, cupping his face and clumsily trying to shove his tongue in his mouth, enjoying that familiar taste of tobacco and iced tea, but Cutter pulls away.

“I see someone's eager~” Without looking down he tugs at the front of his pants - _fucking hell he's scratching, does he never cut his nails?_ \- and pulls his aching cock out. “There… Oh, look how hard you are...” Riemann's eyes are still closed from their kiss; he doesn't even need to look to see the devilish smile on Cutter's face. “All for me?”

“Mm…”

“Good.” Marcus still holds the fag between two fingers on his right hand, taking a last few puffs from it while he jerks him off with his left. “You know, we could get caught here...”

“Mhm.”

“Someone could walk over, stumble upon us and see how desperate you get for me…”

“Mmf.”  

“That would be _embarrassing_ , wouldn't it? And you'd better hurry up, break’s almost over.”

“Mm.”

“You know, I-” Another rough kiss finally cuts off his rambling and shuts him up. He shivers and parts his lips, meeting Victor's tongue with his own. He wouldn't admit it, but for all his smug teasing and want for power and control he can't help but melt when he's manhandled. He presses closer, shamelessly grinding his own clothed erection against Victor's thigh. He'll survive not getting off right now - he'll just have Victor suck him off tonight - but he wants some kind of relief. The friction feels so damn good, he has to hold back from brazenly dry humping his leg, and after a few more moments he forces himself to pull away and focus on jerking his lovely companion off.

“Does this feel good?”

“Mhm...” _Not very responsive, is he?_

“What do you want me to do, Victor?”

“Uh…” _I want to watch you drooling and choking on my cock. I want to tug your hair and force your head down on it and see your pretty eyes water. I want to fuck your throat raw and cum in you._ “...I want you to blow me.”

“Aww… What do I get if I do that for you?”

“What…?”

“Well, pet, you're taking me to my recital, so you get a handjob.” He twists his hand as he moves it and Riemann groans. “So, what will you give me if I give you a blowjob?”

“I…” His mind's gone blank. “Uh…” What does he have to offer?

“Mmm? Don't keep me waiting.”

“I'll give you… Anything you want.”  

“Anything?”

“Anything,” he echos. “I'll uh… Take you to dinner after your concert.” That just earns a raised eyebrow. “Or, uh, I'll buy you a bottle of wine and a pack of fags.”

“Tempting…” Cutter sighs. He's getting bored of tugging at his dick. “How about this; I give you a blowjob now, you let me fuck you tonight.”

“Sure.” That's not so bad. He's no stranger to taking it in the ass. He might even admit to enjoying it.

“And you take me to dinner.”

“Ah…”

“ _And_ you buy me wine and cigarettes.”

“Ah.”

“Fair trade?” Not really, but Riemann is horny as all hell and honestly _would_ do anything for him right now. When he's turned on he throws away all caution and dignity and he's done more than a few things he's not proud of when in the mood. _Try to forget blurting out to Cutter that you loved him in the middle of sex. That didn't end well._

Marcus tosses the dead cigarette butt to the ground and crouches in front of him, not quite kneeling so he doesn’t get his trousers muddy, but balancing on the balls of his feet. How he doesn’t cramp up in that position Riemann will never know. Right now, though, Cutter’s mystical leg muscles are the last thing on his mind. He’s rubbing him slowly again and kissing the head, taking his sweet time.

“Come on,” Riemann whispers, and Cutter _purrs,_ literally purrs like a cat.

“Patience~ Why don’t you ask me nicely?”

“Come on, please?”

“Is that the best you can do?”

“Please, sir.”

“Mmm… Good. Good boy. You're my good boy, aren't you?”

“Yes. Sir.” A slight tremble in his voice. Cutter smiles brightly then takes him in his mouth.

“Fuck…” Yes, he guesses he is Cutter's _good boy._ An obedient puppy to follow him around and do what he says and beg on his knees for scraps of affection. He loves it and hates it and right now he needs him more than anything. “Sir…”

“Mmm…” Cutter hums around him. He's already found a rhythm, pumping his dick with one hand and effortlessly using his mouth the work the rest. He's too good at this - _how many others guys do you think he does this to?_ \- and it’s only been a minute when Victor feels himself getting close.

“Cutter- Sir- Marcus,” he stumbles over his words, “I'm- I'm gonna come.”

“No you're not,” Cutter croons as he pulls away, “You don't come until I say yo-” Cut off again, this time with Victor’s fingers tangled in his hair and his cock forced back in his mouth.

“Don't stop,” he grunts, hand pressing against the back of his head even when he chokes. The almost painful throb of arousal Marcus feels is only shadowed by his swelling anger. He allows him a brief second to enjoy his mouth again, hearing him groan under his breath at the feeling of his cock brushing the back of Cutter's throat- then sinks in his teeth. How cute, he didn't know Victor could scream that high. _Let's hope no one comes to check on him_. He sits back on his heels with drool running down his chin and mussed up hair and wild, furious eyes.

“Victor,” he snarls, glaring up at the whimpering man, “Do not ever - _ever_ \- do that to me again.” _Unless I tell you to. Then I want you to skullfuck me until I pass out._ He's breathing hard. Swallows, tries to steady himself. “Do you understand?”

“Yessir,” Riemann whines, a protective hand gripping himself, tentatively massaging the indents Cutter's teeth made. Christ, he doesn't think he's felt pain like this before. At least not on such a sensitive part of his anatomy.

“Good.” He stands up. “Put yourself away. We're done here.”

“But I didn't-”

“Do I care? I'm done. So are you.” He wipes his mouth and chin on his sleeve, slides his jacket off and ties it around his waist so the sleeves more or less conceal the tent in his pants. Can't do much about the taste in his mouth, the frankly foul mix of cigarettes, iced chai latte, and cock. “Oh, Victor?”

“Mhm.”

“Don't you dare finish yourself off. When I'm… Less angry with you, I'll be taking my side of this trade. I want you sore until then.” _I want you to suffer, just a little._

“Wha…?” Cutter rolls his eyes, running fingers through his hair to neaten it up.

“I'm still fucking you tonight, remember? Have a shower, get yourself ready, wear that pretty underwear I like. Maybe if you make it up to me for choking me I won't be _too_ rough.”

“Y… Yes, sir.”

“And _stop_ calling me sir in public. Don't want people asking questions, do we?” He's already put the usual mask back on; he looks relaxed, calm, in control. Still flushed and ruffled, but he makes it look natural, like he's just been on a light jog during his break instead of stealing smokes and sucking dick.

“No…” Riemann replies. God, he wants to force him back down to his knees and fuck his face. Wipe that smug fucking smile off of it. The image of him gagging and drooling around him makes him throb - and makes the bites ache like hell. Reluctantly, no other choice about it, he puts his dick away and carefully does his trousers up. It's still very obvious he's hard. No way people won't notice. _Shit_.

Cutter watches him with an evil smile. Conceal his anger, let it simmer; he's got a whole day to plan some creative ways to punish Victor tonight, while his poor little victim is stuck with blue balls and no idea what's in store for him. His own arousal is a slight problem, yes, but he'll manage. It'll be worth it.

“Oh, Victor?”

“Mm?”

“Have… Fun in class.” He glances down at the bulge in his trousers and Riemann squirms. He doesn't care what people think about him, he never has, but rolling up to a lesson with a boner clearly straining against his pants is going to do wonders for what little dignity he has.

“Right.”

“Well,” Cutter says with a smart little flourish. _Dickhead_. “Bye bye~” And like that he's gone. Victor makes no move to leave, just watches him retreat around the edge of building and disappear. He can't read that man no matter how hard he tries. Is he still mad? Was he even mad to begin with? His feelings seem to change with the wind and it's impossible to keep up. Whatever. Until tonight, at least, it's no longer his problem. As he pushes away from the wall, shoulders his bag and starts heading to class, it doesn't even occur to him that the longing ache in his chest mysteriously disappears when Cutter's around. It's probably best he doesn't make any connections like that. It'd only lead to heartache.


End file.
